


epiphany

by eudaim0nia



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, End of the World, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaim0nia/pseuds/eudaim0nia
Summary: At world's end, God and Shinigami seek meaning in the shattered existence that remains. And each other.
Relationships: Aizen Sousuke/Kuchiki Rukia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

_In the beginning, there was only an end._ The _end._

_In the post-advent of war and death, when the last word had been uttered and the last deed done, Kuchiki Rukia and Aizen Sōsuke were the only two left._

_He began his approach from across the field; a white figure emerging beyond the graves of friends and foes, rising above the invocations and façades of old religions like some ephemeral, newly risen deity._

_He drew nearer, through a morass of dying hopes and relinquished truths_ _—_ perhaps truth never existed at all _—_ _not once sparing a glance for the rotting corpses strewn and rooted across a once proud, now shattered 'utopia'._

_Rukia, in rigid opposition_ _—_ _spine unnaturally straight and on edge_ _—_ _was unable to pry her eyes, too-wet and too-wide, from the man by her knees._

Nii-sama….

_Holding her breath, she took note of his pallor, ashen and marble-esque. The aristocratic features chiselled whole and perfect, even in death. Like some long-lost idol, soaring high and unafraid, over and beyond the senseless world and its residual vestiges of honour and morality. So Kuchiki Byakuya lay, waiting for Heaven to claim him._

Only Heaven was no more.

_Drawing a shaky breath, Rukia curled her fingers around those of her brother. Squeezing tight until she heard the brittle little bones go crack and saw the skin come apart in a flurry of morbid white. It was all too telling, fatalistic, and she felt like crying_ _—_ _again_ _—_ _watching on as the atrophy took over and a band of dust ascended over her head, higher._

_Higher._

_A shadow fell over her, blocking the muted light._

_Empty now, her fingers dug into the greying earth instead, grounding her. Slowly, she glanced up into her old enemy's eyes, dark orbs gleaming and cunning. The memory of Sōkyoku_ _Hill languished and lingered on the edges of her mind, long cemented to the distant past. Like then, like now, she found herself drowning in the depths of his bottomless gaze. Suffocating under the weight of his unholy reiatsu, as if trampled upon and devoured whole._

 _And yet, Rukia realised she could not find the stab of hate and fear_ _—those well-known sentiments_ _she's_ supposed _to feel_ _. Now that she had nothing left. Nothing to fight for and protect._

 _Aizen considered her carefully before throwing a cursory glance at the scene_ _,_ _and the world_ _,_ _around them. It's not horror or dismay that played across his near-stoic features, never anything so telling and pessimistic, but there was a shred of_ something _. In the harsh set of his jaw and in the very slight, near non-existent, crease of his brow. Displeasure, she thought. For all he once did, every sin and crime_ _—_ _the heretical and antithetical_ _—_ _Aizen Sōsuke never wanted or planned for this._

_No one planned for this._

_Turning towards the torn, unravelled heavens, he finally broke their unspoken impasse. "It seems," he drawled with faint interest and placated amusement, "God would see you live yet, Kuchiki Rukia."_

_She opened her mouth, daring to demand just which accursed_ God _he was referring to, but could not speak. Empty, her voice failed like the rest of her being._

_Silence permeated and Aizen took his leave, immaculate robes_ _—_ _even now_ _—_ _brushing past her with deliberate, glowing indifference. Continuing, unremitting, he made no sign that he ever intended to look back._

_Lowering her gaze, Rukia trembled at the sight of her brother's porcelain cheek shattering and caving in on itself. The hairline cracks continued their caustic course, marring the angelic visage rapidly dispersing into nothing. Leaving her alone_ _._

_All alone._

Forsaken, the dead stayed dead.

 _In a shower of ashes, in despair and disrepair, Rukia broke. Rukia screamed. Threw poisoned curses into the wind. In an instant,_ Sode no Shirayuki _lay ready in her palm._

_The blade cried as it was brought down, aimed straight for her heart._

_. . ._

Days. Months. Perhaps even centuries fluttered by beyond her vantage point, above the hard-beaten grounds and decayed ruins.

With tired eyes, Rukia studied all that remained: nothing.

A pallid existence stretched endlessly forward in all directions, barren and monochrome, destined to fade as all things eventually did. As they already had, for there was a void, slinking forward. Pandemic and acid-laced. Eating away at any vestiges of life till they proved themselves frangible, ever elusive and beyond reach: a trickle of water, an odd shade of green, cool winds and warm sunlit rays.

In a dystopia built on death, life was a lie. An illusion. There was no cure to forestall the inevitable, no salvation to be found when everything stood ready to dissipate in an apocalyptic tangle. In a mishmash of Heaven and Hell, of Earth and everything else in between.

Exhaling a heavy breath, her gaze travelled skyward, taking in the endless wash of blinding grey where once there was only azure and a promise of warmth. Like some empty canvas for her to paint valleys of tortured thoughts upon, she continued to stare as if in a daze, blank eyes like a china doll, and recalled a _different_ time….

A scowling boy with ridiculous orange hair.

A closely adored circle of friends.

A brother— _family_ —to call her own.

Rukia reminisced. Opened the floodgates, fortified her walls, and prepared herself for the sudden onslaught. Countless images surged forth in a dizzying frenzy—the joyful and equally dreadful, every laugh shared and every tear shed—imploring and enthralling with unapologetic precision. Memories were her only remaining keepsake of what once was. Her only remaining treasure, and her greatest tragedy.

Tracing them over in her mind with melancholic longing, she forlornly welcomed the old yet familiar sting that followed. Allowed the pain to run its course and she could almost forgive herself the dead ache settling deep in her chest. It had been a long time since she last allowed herself to truly remember.

To _dream_.

"Tell me a story," she asked, voice soft yet unyielding. Regal and firm.

_Some traits never died._

The man beside her did not shift, made no indication of having heard her at all. His form remained erect, still, legs crossed in a meditative pose and eyes shut in deep concentration. It was a picture of perfect tranquillity in a world that beckoned none. His poise a simple act of defiance against the threat of endless perdition. Like a taunt in the face of fate; a promise that he would not break or kneel under the weight of their untimely tragedy.

Rukia could not help but admire his tenacity.

The moments continued to pass in a moratorium neither stifling nor heavy—she thought of frozen winter lakes and a full ivory moon, all too serene and still. So the quietude shifted, became welcoming, wholly contrary to the desolate planes before them. Lost to its embrace she waited, the passing minutes paid little heed and instantly forgot. Patience, after all, was a lesson quickly learned in a world where even time held little meaning anymore. She was eventually rewarded—feeling a tell-tale quiver, _a thrill_ , down her spine—when a voice, smooth and deep, began to resonate and caress against her being with near rapturous intent.

Ready to enchant with tales of what was, is, and— _one day_ —will be.

"In the beginning…."

With a soft sigh, Rukia closed her eyes, appeased and content, _for the moment_. Inside her soul, the desire to seek another universe, to relive the past of this one still, burned with every one of his words as the tale unfurled.

So Rukia listened, heart alert—split in two—and wondered how it would end.


	2. Chapter 1

_Rukia braced herself for the pain. Welcomed it even, this final taste_ _of life's cruellest offerings never to be suffered again._

_Only it never came._

_Her mind was still in shock and immersed in a haze all too thick. Everything seemed so still, the moment frozen in perpetuity, and she had to force herself to snap out of it._

_One-two._

_Three-four._

_The seconds ticked away once more. The fog cleared, slowly, and she registered the iron grip covering her own, halting her downward strike. It was firm, unnaturally strong. Carried with it the promise of both deliverance and destruction—beginnings and finales come full-circle—and its presence made no sense at all._

_Who—?_

_Opening her eyes, she found herself face to face with Aizen. Again. He was towering over her, features grim, and in his hard, cutting gaze she saw a swirling tempest of condemnation and disgust; the expected and familiar response. And yet, beneath it all, there was a sliver of something far more sombre._ _The sentiment was foreign on him, contradicting and teetering on the absurd, but there it was, unique in its ability to burn far deeper than anything else he was aiming at her._

Disappointment.

" _I would have thought you had long since overcome such foolishness," he stated lowly and she could only stare, eyes half-lidded._

_Feverish and delirious. The strength and heat of his reiatsu pressing down on her was intolerable. As if hanging off a precipice, a lone leaf in the wind, all shaken and dazed, she found herself on the verge of passing out._

" _W-what?"_

" _Did you learn_ nothing _from our last encounter?"_

_His words sent a jolt straight through her. A surge of remembrance, and suddenly, she's on Sōkyoku_ _Hill all over again…._

Hanging limp and powerless in his grasp as Ichigo and Renji lay bruised and bloodied on the floor.

Struck by fear and nausea as his hand entered her chest, smothering her soul with the weight of a thousand-and-one tides crashing down.

Held aloft and discarded with little thought as he ordered her death, all blithe and cruel indifference.

_Rukia remembered it well and yet, whatever lesson he was alluding to was ultimately lost on her. The flash of recollection died in her eyes then, confusion at his words etched itself all over her face, and she was granted little more than a scowl as Aizen shook her free from the hold about her blade. With a painful thud she landed on her back, the impact only adding to the growing discord taking place in her head. Trying_ _, and failing, to get a handle on her tumultuous thoughts, Rukia looked up at the man before her, gaze suddenly narrow._

_What did he want?_

_Only moments ago he had turned his back on her with a pitiless air of finality. He wouldn't,_ shouldn't _, have cared whether she lived or died, and yet there he was, inspiring both frustration and bewilderment with his sudden, bizarre interest in her. Had it been anyone else, she would have thought them mad. But this, she reminded herself, was_ Aizen Sōsuke _, and Rukia knew well he was not a man to waste either actions or words._

_So she found herself asking once more…_ what did he want?

_When she observed him retrieving her discarded scabbard and sheathing her blade, her eyes widened with palpable surprise._

" _What… what are you_ doing _?"_

" _Ensuring there are no further reprises," he responded matter-of-factly, sliding her zanpakutō through the sash at his waist where it came to a rest beside his own._

_His reply rendered her speechless, gaping mouth and all. She grasped at comprehension, her mind turning the words over and over in hopes of making sense of them. He meant… he meant to keep her alive? The very idea was ludicrous, beyond her capacity for understanding, and so she began puzzling over the all-elusive_ why _._

_Why?_

_Why did he intervene?_

_Why did he want her alive?_

_Slowly, realisation dawned, but not in response to her puzzled queries. No, what dawned on her rather was what he intended to deny her…._

An end.

_A merciful escape from the loss and pain. From the grim scene that surrounded her and the suffocating stench of death that made her eyes water and throat clench. There was nothing left to live for. Nothing left to do but to follow after those who had fallen before her. It's what she wanted. It's what she_ needed.

_To her side, her brother's corpse continued decomposing, white bones beginning to peer curiously through white skin in an artful display of morbidity._

_He was dead, she needlessly reminded herself. Dead like Ichigo. Like Renji and Chad and Orihime…. They were gone, all of them. But not her, not yet. She should be dead too! Yes. Dead. Dead like the rest of them! It was only right! Yes... it was_ right _that she take her life! That she_ die _. But_ he _stopped her… he_ stopped her _! He…_ HE…!

"NO!"

_With an anguished cry and wild eyes she lunged for her blade, pulling at his white cloak and shirt and anything else she could get her hands on like a woman possessed. Forgotten was the memory of who this man truly was, of what he was truly capable of; those incredulous feats and casual displays of strength which stunned and invoked a sense of cold, dark dread in the hearts of the Gotei Thirteen._

_There was no fear to be found in her being now, no sense of foresight or lucidity. Only a maddening desperation and growing urgency mirroring her lunacy as she struggled against him. He took a step back, attempted to brush her off and she could picture the distaste that must have been distorting his face. But Rukia persisted, her cries all the more frantic._

_He would not deny her this, not_ this _! She wouldn't let him!_

" _No! I-I can't! I can't go on like this! They're dead… DEAD! All of them! K-kill me! Let me die! Please…. Please, j-just let me d-die! Let me DIE, DAMN YOU—!"_

_The blow came quick and furious. His hand whipped out, cutting through air like lightning and across her face with a stinging_ crack. _Rukia was barely aware of her head snapping off to the side, of the taste of warm copper steadily filling her mouth. There was only a reeling in her mind as the world swayed and tipped in front of her eyes. Before she knew it she was colliding with the hard ground, pain blooming across her entire side as it absorbed the brunt of her fall. Even so, the physical agony was nothing compared to the blood pounding in her ears and the ringing in her skull. For a moment, she fancied it might just split in two._

" _You disgrace yourself," she heard him admonish, the disdain more than ever palpable in his voice._

_Ignoring him, Rukia slowly eased up onto her hands and knees, mindful of the stinging heat on her cheek. Swaying, she steadied herself the best she could, coughing up blood in the process. She watched the scarlet splatters through pain-filled and glassy eyes, suddenly mesmerised by the evidence of her own mortality sprayed across grey earth._

_It was truly a miracle, she mused—a sick, cruel twist of fate—that she'd survive the one war to end all wars when she was so palpably fragile._

_So pathetically weak._

_How many times had she needed saving? How many times had others risked their lives for her?_

_Far too many, she grimly told herself in rebuke, as the faces of her many saviours flickered through her mind's eye. Ichigo, Renji, her brother and nakama. Each and every one of them long gone. Something numb began to fester and grow in her chest, spewing over in melancholy as tears spilled across her cheeks yet again. Ceaseless, rivulets formed like an autumn deluge. An anguished wail followed; a raw, broken chord that sounded more Hollow than human._

_It was a cry that demanded no interruption._

_As if aware, Aizen granted her this slight respite, not moving or saying a word until both her coughs and sobs had ceased. And just as soon as they had, as if that moment alone marked the extent of his compassion, he made his demands known and shattered the frigid silence all over again._

" _Come."_

_Brusque. To the point, there was no need for further preamble. His meaning was rendered crystal clear: he expected her to follow after him. Like some obedient dog at her master's heel. Not waiting for, or even expecting her assent, he turned his back and made his way out into whatever hell awaited them._

_Rukia didn't move, didn't make to follow after him, the entire ordeal more than she could sanely bear._ _She was aware of her breathing echoing in her ears and her knuckles turning a bony white, all tight and fierce and unforgiving as nails dug mercilessly into her palms. Imagining instead they were wrapped around_ his _throat, squeezing hard—_ hurting _him—making her every ounce of pain, frustration and grief known to him._

_Why…_ why _couldn't he just let her be?_

_Feeling defiant—a flicker of her old self, not entire extinguished—she remained where she was, on hands and knees, grinding her teeth and hoping against hope the earth might just split in two and swallow her whole. There was no calamity, however—not now when she_ wanted _it to occur—only a saturnine silence interrupted by measured steps. And sure enough, soon enough, those too came to a still._

" _As much as I would like to spare a lady such as yourself the indignity of having to drag her along, your obstinacy is testing my patience, Kuchiki-san."_

_She'd be a fool to think his threat cavalier and empty; he would drag her kicking and screaming if she forced his hand. Raising her head at the thought, she gazed upon his back with a newfound hatred and resentment pooling in her eyes. The bastard hadn't even deigned to turn around and address her to her face. Inconsequential as she felt, she bitterly accepted the only choice available to her._

_Hanging her head, she tore her gaze away and steadily eased her weary body upright and onto her feet. Taking a few tentative steps, she fought against the ever growing sensation of vertigo that threatened to send her toppling back to the ground. Resigned however, Rukia clenched her teeth and willed herself forward._

_Seemingly satisfied, Aizen began his purposeful pace once more. Keeping her distance, clutching onto the sleeves of her shihakushō, Rukia couldn't help but wonder what awaited her. She doubted he would go through all that trouble only to later kill her, and yet she was wary of his intentions. There existed things far worse than death, after all._

_Why?_

_Why?_

Why?

_The mantra once more plagued her mind, the indomitable question yielding no answer. And so she obsessed over it some more, and more, and_ more _; seeking some semblance of meaning and truth in a world that promised none at all._

_There, amidst the endless stream between existence and non-existence, she pondered helplessly as Aizen led them beyond debris and ashes._

_Away from a graveyard of fallen gods, sinners and saints._

. . .

Her throat and tongue felt like sandpaper.

Her muscles ached and cramped, begging reprieve.

Eyes burning and lips twitching, never had she felt so out of place within her own skin. Though Rukia knew she had to persevere. Had to bite back against the growing thirst and gnawing ache in her belly.

That however was proving a Herculean task as the cynic in her reared its despairing head, whispering cruel truths with every staggering step.

_This was hell._

_This was torture._

Drenched in sweat, shihakushō clinging to her like a second skin, Rukia braved the roaring inferno and unforgiving sun beating mercilessly down her back. Only there was no sun. Days and nights had bled into one, warping her perception of time. Days, weeks, months; she could not be certain of how long it had been, this seemingly purposeless journey of theirs. Without pause, without respite, Rukia walked, and walked, and _walked_. Overhead, the sky was almost a blinding white, awash with neither colour nor hue, and yet by some perversion of norm and physical laws, there was no source of light. Thoughts disordered— _delirious_ —she looked down at her dust-covered feet and noted the lack of any lingering shadow.

Disconcerted, she shifted her gaze onto a wide, barren horizon.

Onto _him_.

Before her Aizen kept a purposeful stride, was impenetrable. A bastion of marble, unblemished by the elements. Rukia resented him, envied him.

Just how did he do it? How did he command so effortlessly and bend even the world to his will? Would nothing save a touch of divine transcendence—a pang, in her heart, at the memory of that _carrot top_ —bring him to submission?

But in the end not even that strike of pure black void had been enough. For Ichigo was dead, and Aizen was still alive.

Oh how she _hated_ him.

Openly hostile and glaring, heart pounding and mind raging, Rukia imagined righteous daggers and swords plunging into his back. A pop. A stream of scarlet—blood, blood and _more_ blood—a parting mortal breath, a descent into an unholy sea of fire. All hot. Burning. Prickling. Rotting carcass consumed by a hell nine degrees beyond any being living or dead could fathom.

The dark fantasy beckoned, made her hand itch for the blade just beyond her grasp. But then her gaze wavered and swam, Aizen's silhouette suddenly a blur. Ephemeral, a mirage, a spectre divorced from this fallible world.

Beyond her powers and understanding.

…She was a fool to think she could ever end him.

Festering in frustration, she scratched at her collar, suddenly itchy and cumbersome, and accidentally drew blood. Examining her nails, she found two drops there, gleaming red like rubies. Vibrant, almost gaudy against a backdrop of white and grey. Tentatively, she brought her fingers to her mouth and licked at the warm copper, thinking it would jolt her to action, into a bout of _perseverance_ , only to leave her nauseous and recalling calamities.

Gagging, she choked on arid air and dry-heaved her anguish.

The ache in her belly doubled against the strain, a reminder of her hunger as she saw nothing before her. The land was scarce and grey, mostly gravel and sand, with only an occasional thin clump of terse, dry grass and sprawling bushes that looked ready to dissipate into dust with only a touch. Survival necessitated water, food, and shelter. The world offered only a pervasive tincture of acrimony and malady.

Perhaps this was how she was destined to end. Starved and alone in a hostile land worse than any reality she had endured in the Rukongai. Rukia would sooner relive those old horrors than see the end of her current nightmare.

As if to confirm her dilemma, her stomach growled. Biting her lip, ashamed despite herself, her gaze was pulled once again to Aizen, hoping he hadn't heard. She wanted as little of his attention on her as possible, and she didn't want any further allusions to her feeble inferiority confirmed.

Just as the thought ran its course she took pause. Why did she care? His opinion of her mattered less than nothing, she affirmed instead. He could think her pathetic and a burden and she'd prefer it. Especially if he decided to absolve himself of an avoidable encumbrance.

Aizen however gave no sign of having heard her stomach's cries of hunger. If he had, he did not seem to care.

As the slight redness of her cheeks dissipated along with the initial, instinctive flare of embarrassment, she returned her attention on quelling her famine and thirst. On keeping her awareness and focus.

She focused on the sound of her steps, a haphazard staccato. Further up ahead, Aizen's footfalls kept a rhythmic pace, resonant, like a steady heartbeat.

There was no other sound.

_There was no one else._

No, _no_ , the idea was ridiculous! Impossible. There had to be others out there fortunate enough to survive. They had only yet to find them. Aizen's perseverance, the infuriatingly indomitable manner at which he held onto life, came as no surprise. He would survive even the universe shattering in on itself before it disintegrated into carbon crystals into ashes into dust into end.

She conversely was nobody.

Nothing.

Fortune did not favour her as it did her foe, and yet she too had been spared demise. That was enough for her to believe others had too.

_And where are they?_

At her mind's taunt, nearly mocking in tone, Rukia licked and bit her lips. _Somewhere_ , she thought bitterly. Beyond barren lands and withered mountain peaks. Beyond white horizons and desolate planes. Out there, somewhere. Anything else, anything less, was far too terrifying. The implications of such a thing, the _what-could-it-mean_ , was a riddle and a burden she could not handle. To even consider it weighed down on her weak and slender frame, making her stumble as she struggled to move one foot in front of the other.

_This was hell._

_This was torture._

Her breath was faint, lungs starved and widening, darkness growing at the edges of her vision with every step.

_Hell._

_Tortutre._

_Hell—_

Aizen was no more than a hazy shadow as she staggered forward.

So Rukia fell, feeling like the world was slipping away, bleak and black with only a flash of white in her periphery.

Her body never hit the ground.

. . .

_Something was wrong._

_Awry._

_Amiss._

_Ichigo stood before her all rigid and rictus, wound tight. The lines of his spine and shoulders heaved with the horrid, effusive, irrepressible hurt of a thousand wounds and a hundred strikes. The silhouette he carved burned like some horrid premonition made true._

_Rukia sucked in a breath at the sight, words of inquiry of comfort of reassurance dying on her lips. Ichigo possessed all the force and strength of an undying sun. If he fell, he stood himself back up, sword in hand, and plunged on ahead. Foolishly, carelessly, but with a burning resolve that scorched all in his path._

_The despair, the palpable terror he barely veiled, unnerved and frightened her. Something was different. Different from instances past where she could jolt him into action with a lone sharp word when he momentarily wavered._

_Endless, horrible possibilities played across her mind, all revolving upon his last encounter with the Quincy leader and progenitor. What could have possibly—?_

" _I don't think I can do this."_

_An exhalation, a child's whisper uttered in the dark. Rukia doubted she'd truly heard it. But she had. She heard his grief-stricken admission and felt a lump of ice wedge itself in her chest. As if the sun had descended, the world obscured in shadows and gloom. His words heralded an unfolding tragedy that terrified her._

" _Ichigo…?"_

_His sleeves fluttered against an invisible breeze as he turned to face her, a sober, stolid expression set in place. And in his eyes she saw calamity, dread. Saw a whirling maelstrom of denunciation and haunting. In darkened pupils she saw an empty void that cried and bellowed unnamed pains in silence._

_Rukia froze, the ice in her chest had suddenly engulfed her whole._

_Just as quickly as it had appeared, the malign haze disappeared. Ichigo shook his head, dispelling concerns like summer leaves in the wind._

" _I…. Nothing," he uttered, turning back and walking forward once more._

_The Soul King's palace—a decayed cocoon forged from ashes of cremated corpses—caught the sun's rays and shined deceptively tranquil and bright. As if all were well, as if peace reigned across the realms once more._

_She barely noticed the trembling grip on his blade._

. . .

Pitter-patter. Drip-drip.

The jolt to her senses came gradually in the form of tiny chilly splatters splayed sporadically across her cheeks, quickly finding her lips. There, they forced their way down her throat, becoming a cool stream that brought the purest relief whilst drowning her lungs.

With a rigid cough and a gasp for air, Rukia mentally shook herself out of her stupor— _dispelled the sight of Ichigo's weary eyes, still burned in her mind_ —and worked on easing open heavy lids, only to find herself muddled and hallucinating.

A face, some haphazard outline as if behind layers of opaque glass, shifted over her and made a sound that seemed muffled to her ears. As if stretched across ocean depths and endless, murky space, far too quiet and far away to hear. Deciphering neither features nor words, she blinked against the ache in her head and strain in her eyes, removing layer upon layer of shadowy ghost curtain as her gaze began to focus.

Ichigo's face stared back at her, and it was all she could do not to gasp and cry.

_It was all a nightmare_ , she told herself. A malevolent delusion, now made frangible and torn asunder. For Ichigo was there, in front of her! He hadn't left to battle a destructive foe. Hadn't fallen from the heavens as the world below broke apart in ruin and calamity, ravaged by invisible flames. Drowning on a sob, Rukia breathed untold relief and desperately reached out to unveil his face. To unravel the remaining layer of glass and fog as her mind whispered in desperate longing and hope: _Ichigo_.

_Ichigo!_

Only to see Aizen there instead, hovering like an ill-veiled curse.

She froze. Was turned to stone, stolen breath and all. Reality beckoned and she _remembered_ —

_torn, unravelled heavens_

_Nii-sama's cheek shattering_

_Aizen towering over her_

_the taste of copper in her mouth_

_the hunger, the_ thirst

It felt like another part of her had been butchered and slayed, wrenched and dispersed in the dry, barren wind along with the last of her short-lived hope. Her hand dropped, a deadened thing sapped of vitality and strength.

It had seemed so real—Ichigo alive and well—if only for a moment. A moment long enough to quell the numbing pain in her chest. She felt emptier now, and her heart stung, made raw of the pains of remembrance of yesterday all over again.

A mix of madness and hysteria creeped up her throat and coated her mind, tempered only by an overwhelming sense of enervation.

She was _so_ tired.

Tired of feeling. Of remembering. Of living. She wanted to fade into oblivion, to blanket herself in the darkness of eternal sleep. Her lids drooped at thought of reprieve, of respite, only to be pulled back by a nagging shake of her shoulder. Persistent, it did not cease. Belatedly coming to her senses, she opened her eyes once more. And realised, after a pause of horrid shock, that her shoulders and head were placed like some neat little package right atop the traitor's lap.

The urge to dart away— _disgust_ —warred with the desire to curse him something vicious— _hate_ —only for her to close her mouth as a bout of aphasia came over her. Words could not relay the plethora of emotions she felt. Rather, she glared at him, all virulent and venomous. The invisible sun overhead flared, and she imagined a solar insurrection coming down and engulfing them whole.

_I'd gladly kill us both if I could._

Aizen raised a brow, as though he could read her thoughts, before exhaling an amused huff. A wide smile cut across his face and she hated just how charming it made him look.

"Such fire. If only you showed such committed fervour towards your own survival," he mocked, the derision in his gaze at odds with the pleasantness of his smile.

"Why do you care!?" she snapped, but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper. "You were content enough to order Gin to kill me once. My life and I mean nothing to you!"

She shouldn't have allowed him to wriggle his way under her skin. His actions, every belief and every word, were like blisters and sores burning neat patterns over membrane and bone. He irritated. He _infuriated_. She was suddenly convinced he wanted to keep her around solely to drive her to the depths of insanity. To torture her in his own perverse way and in so doing fend off the inevitable tedium that followed an apocalypse.

Aizen's smile disappeared, features unexpectedly sober. Sombre. Rukia held his gaze hard, daring him to lie and argue the contrary.

"How unfortunate, that one's eyes should be wide open and unable to truly see…."

"What?"

"Remind me, how does it play out again? A young girl, imbued with insecurities and doubts as to her purpose and place. A commanding officer, always on hand with a reassuring word and the promise of support. The young girl grows confident, begins to break out of her shell with allusions of belonging."

"Just what are you—?"

"Then, one rainy night, tragedy falls. Her commander is struck down, consumed by the very Hollow he sought to kill. His body, now an empty husk controlled by the fiend, attacks the girl. In defence, she unwittingly raises her sword, and _kills_ him."

_No._

No, no, no _no no_ _no_! Why?! Why was he digging up this old wound?! "S-Stop—"

"The girl is beside herself, grief-stricken. She holes herself up behind a wall of guilt and despair. Her Captain cannot pierce it. Her noble brother, aloof behind a layer of familial angst and ignorance, retreats from it. She loses her sense of purpose and self, blames herself day in and day out. Decries her continued existence—"

"I said _stop_!"

Her body shook like it was placed atop a sea of burning coals, scorched through porcelain skin, burning with the horrid intensity of long subdued hurts.

"Then, another calamity unfolds. Circumstances lead to her arrest—"

"That _you_ orchestrated, you _bastard_!"

The blisters _seared_ across her skin.

"And she is sentenced to death. Her brother, unwilling to besmirch his family's honour, concedes. A ragtag band of ryoka and a childhood friend her only means of rescue. But even when they free her from her confinement, even when they stop her execution, even when her brother is defeated under the weight of his hubris, the young girl maintains the title of 'murderer'. Festers in self-blame. Tells herself her death is foretold justice for her sin. Even when the mastermind behind the charade reveals himself, even when his confession absolves her of all blame, the girl does not fight. Does not see the value her life has."

Burning, blood and bile blending at the base of her throat, her heart agitated as she searched for the strength to rise up. To bring _him_ down! To pummel him until he stopped, _just stopped_! _Stopped talking, stopped breathing!_

"So her foe lifts her off the ground, holds her aloft, as inconsequential as she herself felt. Orders her most hated nemesis to kill her, if only to gauge a reaction. A sliver of perseverance or defiance. Waits, and waits as Ichimaru Gin unsheathes his blade, bemused at the lack of response. At the young girl's willingness to throw her life away, loath to see her own worth. All the while aware of a distinct reiatsu, as insufferable as the man it belonged to, making its way toward them with the frenzied speed of a man possessed. Of a man who recently learned the value of a treasure he'd have sooner discarded."

Rukia couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe. Wildly, her head shook from side to side. What was he saying? What was he _implying_?

" _Sh-shut up_!"

"Her noble brother appears, ready and willing to sacrifice himself. To save her life. The girl cannot believe it. Even later, once the ordeal has come to pass and the dust has settled, she cannot believe her brother's actions. Or those of her friends, so willing to sacrifice themselves. For _her_. But out of that ordeal she found something of value: the lives of those she held dear. She found purpose. Found a place to belong. Her life suddenly held meaning. How unfortunate then, that she would so willingly discard what others found value in. What they sought, time and time again, to protect."

" _Shut up_! _SHUT UP—_!"

"How unfortunate that she would not realise that _life itself has value and meaning_."

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Rukia screamed and swung a hand, all hellfire and retribution, aimed right for his throat. In that moment, she understood loathing better than anyone. But for all her rage and hell-wrought furies, he caught her wrist easily. Held it with palpable disinterest as his reiatsu spiked, pinning her with the barest pressure to the ground. She squirmed, unable to shake his hold. She glared, cried her frustration. And there he kept her, a butterfly clipped of her wings.

"When have you ever cared about anyone's life but your own, you _liar_?! When have you _ever_ valued anyone's life?!" she bellowed, tears in her eyes, desperate to catch him in a lie.

To render his words worthless. Because they _smarted_. Burned in their truth, and enflamed the fires of self-loathing and guilt within her like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

"Man's greatest fear is the thought of his eventual demise. His every action, his every thought, is a march forward against the threat of death whilst doing everything in his power to keep it at bay, no matter the adversity. This is what is meant by progress, Kuchiki-san. This is what maximises perfection. It is necessary, then, for every living creature to seek out what is maximally good even when this is preceded by affliction. A seed sown in the earth suffers before it bears fruit, this is true for all aspects of life. Tribulations are a means of betterment. Such perfections however cannot be had in the absence of existence. Life then is a great good. For only what _is_ , can be good, for what is not, is nothing at all. Understanding this, one can only value life."

Rukia shut her eyes, tight and fierce and unforgiving. Hoping to escape the esoteric truth of what he spoke. Yet she knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Aizen pressed on, as if in reflection, voice hiding malice beneath a veneer of cordial nectar and honey. It was enough to draw her gaze to him as he stared off in the distance, all too pensive.

"Of course, most are incapable of the requisite strength and conviction needed to overcome life's challenges. Floundering at the first hurdle, or the tenth. The hundredth. The thousandth. Pathetically wallowing in the face of Fate, unwilling or unable to overcome hardships and setbacks so as to take command of their own destiny."

At this, he levelled a pointed, heavy gaze at her. It whipped across her cheeks, staining them a virulent red. Shame once again coursed through her, and a deep hatred followed it. For him. But most of all, for herself.

"But, no matter," he drawled, the tone of his voice suddenly cheerful as he held her stare. "It has always been true that all living beings seek something greater than themselves to depend on. If one does not have the wisdom, strength or will to achieve something, they rely on the help of another—to guide them, to protect them. To grant them salvation. In this, you are quite fortunate, Kuchiki-san. While you may not be the first feeble soul to rely on me, you most certainly will be the last."

At that, he gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze. It would have been _almost_ comforting, if not for the sense of cold dread and rankled abhorrence that overcame her. Her mind whirled over his words, was overwhelmed. Never before had she been simultaneously insulted, threatened, humiliated and consoled. The perverse knowledge gnawed. Soured over acerbically, her veins constricted from disdain.

"You… _bastard_ ," she whispered with barely contained rage.

Aizen only smiled benignly.

"As certain as I am that you will become more agreeable with time, I hope you'll at least concede to some water for now, lest I have to force it down your throat again."

Another threat, delivered again with that sanguine smile. It made her want to gag and vomit before she was reminded of awakening to the sensation of water drops and rivulets. It was suddenly at the forefront of her mind, every other concern a pittance—her earlier hate exhumed from her bone-dry chest—and once again she was overcome by an unquenchable, _insatiable_ , thirst. Mouth cotton-dry, arms and legs cramped in agony, belly concave and sickly white—like a corpse wilting for days on old—the body's desire for survival overrode all other yearnings. She threw a hasty glance around her, seeking a source, only to come up empty. The world was still hot and barren and stank of a putrid rot that would not desist. Turning her gaze back onto Aizen, she silently implored with confusion and abject want, her pride momentarily forgotten.

Heeding her silent request, Aizen relinquished her wrist and spread open his palm. A small haze began to form in the air before him, morphing into a pale grey cloud. In another moment water began to trickle from it. Her amazement at the feat was short-lived as she eagerly angled her head and opened dry, wind-cracked lips. The relief as she began to drink was immediate and unprecedented. Rukia drank, and drank, and just as she had her fill, she drank some more.

When she finally eased herself up and pulled away to breathe a lungful of much needed air, her curiosity rose and demanded elucidation. "How?"

Mildly surprised at her query, Aizen flicked his wrist and the cloud slowly dissipated.

"A simple manipulation of the elements, not at all unlike a Kidō spell. Whilst we find ourselves amidst a broken dimensional rift with the collision of the realms, the fundamental rudiments of existence remain unchanged. At least for now. Thankfully, water is basic enough in its structure to easily recreate."

Rukia was stunned and enthralled but bit her tongue and did not say: how making water appear out of thin air in a manner so cavalier was a whole new level of ridiculous. How leaving her to faint from dehydration, fearing the means of survival whilst he possessed it all along, was horribly callous and malicious. The odium returned and painted grievances and reservations across her face. Aizen, predictably and all too infuriatingly, saw the shift and seemed to know what she was thinking.

"If you were thirsty, you need only have said, Kuchiki-san."

Her only reply was a hate-filled glare.

_Bastard._

As she glared at Aizen and came to grips with her circumstance, Rukia internally winced at the realisation that salvation came at an excruciatingly horrible and exasperating price.


	3. Chapter 2

Rukia still remembered her first day entering the Kuchiki estate. Could not forget such a _mo-men-tous_ occasion.

It was afternoon in late spring, the sun slowly sinking behind high walls and a motley canopy of Maple and Cypress. Koi filled lakes glimmered tranquilly and still, unmarred by the outside world. Lush hydrangea blossoms dotted the perfectly manicured emerald landscape as Sakura trees in full bloom gently danced with the breeze, freshly dead petals littering the grounds like a hallowed sanctuary. Their scent was pervasive, oppressive.

As she tried not to cough—tried not to reveal follies and faults—Rukia became aware of a heavy, piercing gaze on her. Demanding, suffocating, it would not abate. Up and to her right, she scanned the vicinity in alarm, and saw Kuchiki Byakuya, no, Byakuya _nii-sama_ , staring at her from behind carved and polished wooden pillars. His eyes were steely, cold, and hid—what she would later come to know—a millennia's worth of hurts.

In that moment, fear, more potent than ever, lapped her heart. The insurmountable distinctions and distance between them had never seemed truer. Even with the aegis afforded her by her new name and title, her position and place were still abundantly clear.

_Nothing._

Her value was only what the Kuchiki Lord decided it to be, and that, she slowly realised, was next to nothing.

The ice of his stare, so aloof and borderline hostile, chilled her to her core. Close to cowering, she contemplated refuge behind the wizened trunk of an old peach tree and wondered, once again, why she ever agreed to this strange charade of charity.

Only for her noble brother to retreat first. Turning his back on her— _done with her_ —she appeared as lowly and unimportant as she felt, left alone before the manor doors with only an apathetic retinue to see to her.

The world had never seemed as empty and lonely as it did then.

_Until now._

The heavens cooled and bled purple-grey, dusty and ashy, and there was a distinctly solemn twang in the air.

Rukia mulled over it, pondered on its source. And decided it was her perception of the world that had shifted, a natural evolution of grief and guilt. Melancholic reflection had decayed her bones and rooted itself in her exhumed, animated corpse. Ruminations were all she breathed. Her shock and horror had long since subsided, her body's primal need for survival momentarily sated, and her desire to end her life curtailed by the unlikeliest and most undesirable source.

Some might have called her weak for allowing her enemy to pervert her mind and thoughts.

Submissive and spiritless.

 _Spineless_.

Had she not traversed all nine circles and still seen the truth of what he spoke, she would have agreed. But sometimes, the substance of strength, the crux of grit, entailed humility and acceptance. In knowing right was right and wrong was wrong, regardless of the source.

Rukia didn't want to admit it— _rankled_ her to admit it—but Aizen was right. Death was a selfish thing. A convenient, petty, dismal comfort. And she had no right to embrace it; to forsake the sacrifices made by others, no matter the depths of her anguish. No matter the onus felt knowing they were dead and she was not. They had fought once so that she may live, and live she would, even in purgatory for all eternity.

Alone she would suffer, a testament to their sacrifice.

Alone, she would hold onto their hearts and immortalise them in gossamer memories.

Beyond her gaze, the concept of forever danced along in chains, battered and matted. They enveloped her, a prisoner to fate. And fate was ever so cruel, chaining her to _him_.

Aizen hadn't spoken or paid her any heed since their last exchange. Once again his purpose solely lay in traversing the perished world ahead. Incessant, undeterred. Whatever he sought remained veiled in haunted mystery, and her obliviousness with regards to his aims and plans was beginning to exacerbate. The idea of spending close to an eternity trailing after him, with no end in sight, was as maddening as it was disorienting.

Whilst she suspected he would tell her if she only asked, Rukia remained reluctant. He was her enemy still, circumstances would not change that, and the time spent with him—and not someone else, _anyone_ else—already felt like a betrayal. Rukia was not about to add compliant conversation to the mix. Whatever transient truce they had forged, whatever kismet they shared, was an unavoidable convenience that would shatter at the first true hurdle or opportunity.

Rukia wasn't entirely foolish.

She knew she was expendable. Despite his current assertions—the grand, benevolent claims spewed from his lips with the veneer of venom-honey—the moment would come when she would find his sword plunged deep into her heart. Lodged tight, to the hilt. A burst of scarlet trickling down over crystal skin and arteries.

With a grimace, a hand covered her wrist as it throbbed and itched, the phantom memory of his grip burned into her skin. The underlying menace and malice had not been lost on her, despite the assurance of comfort. Irrespective of what he liked to claim and think, he was not her guardian or her saviour. He was not her Lord or her God, and Rukia would do anything to see him stumble from his _oh-so_ lofty throne.

Silently, she re-established a brittle wall between them, daring him to defy it. Challenging him to cross it—

"There's a tree up ahead."

he timely accepted. Rukia hid incredulity and resignation. Swallowed the mild annoyance at the broken moratorium.

Craning her neck she confirmed his observation. A lone tree stood before them, bereft of any leaves. A shrivelled, hollow thing, there it stood amid the arid fissure of an earth hairline-splintered. Amidst ruin, it too stood ready to dissipate and dwindle. And yet, a lone fruit dangled from one of the branches. Slightly shrivelled and withered, but a fruit all the same. It was the first sign of life they'd come across.

Wasting no time, Aizen walked up to it and plucked it from its high perch, his height fit for the task. Another moment and he turned; extended his arm and offered what she now saw was a pomegranate.

Surprised again despite herself, Rukia hesitated before searching his eyes, seeking some ulterior motive and witnessed neither a shower of deprivation or virulence. Aizen belied nothing, perfectly content to relinquish their first morsel of food.

Wary, she took his offering, making sure their fingers avoided contact. She studied the pomegranate carefully, as if examining for every blemish— _some veiled deceit like poison_ —as Aizen turned his back and began to pace once more. Felt the texture of its leathery skin, the weight of it in her palm, and tore it open. Most of it was already rotten, a sea of black in between rows of angular membrane. But amid the rot she found six perfect seeds; vibrant, ruddy-rose and all too ripe.

All six were quickly excised and swallowed, so quick the faint tartness had little time to linger on her tongue. No relief came, her stomach still caved.

Another hundred miles, another tree appeared in their path. Rukia was baffled by their sudden fortune and felt assured, not for the first time, that there was a method and purpose to Aizen's every action. Some arcane truth that only he was privy to, guiding his course. Perhaps life truly did bloom somewhere, beyond the horizon, beckoning and enticing like a wayward siren, with only Aizen capable of heeding its silent call.

If anyone could make right the destruction that had descended and the threat of perdition that loomed, she begrudgingly conceded it was he. And yet Rukia swallowed the budding fires of a renewed hope. It would not do to cling to expectations that could prove illusive and foolish, and her heart could not handle another disappointment.

Deciding on a distraction, she trekked up to their new find. This one still had its leaves. They retained some of their former vibrancy with inklings of green amongst splotches of grey. Their shape and curve was distinctly familiar. _Fig_ , her mind supplied and Rukia almost turned giddy at the thought of a produce opulent and purple, ripe and olive. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She widened her eyes, scanned the wild, gnarled branches—

"No fruit," Aizen hummed thoughtfully, as if deliberating some cosmic jest.

Rukia deflated instantly, trying and failing not to scowl at him.

Silence resurfaced after that and continued to drag. Another continual, uninterrupted passage across a flat, endless plane. Nothing and eternity stretched forth in all directions, slow and inexorable. The prior trees and torrid bushes were little more than cursory and pitiful mementos. For a moment she doubted they had even existed, faced with naught and oblivion as far as the eye could see. Famished and drained and sick, _abhorring_ , of endless greying days turned endless violet dusk, Rukia hoped for a lull and a modicum of sleep— _knew_ she would still not request Aizen halt.

At some point she had drifted off mid-step only for his voice—her name, rolling off his tongue—to pull her out of slumber. His timing, as always, was frighteningly perfect.

With jolted eyes, Rukia took in her surroundings and saw a lone tree before her. Healthy, green and teeming with flawless blood-red apples. She blinked. And blinked again, not entirely convinced she wasn't dreaming. When the faces of the dead did not creep upon her to suffocate, she was certain she wasn't.

Before her Aizen appeared to be studying the apple tree intently, as if it were a riddle. A metaphysical enigma. By all accounts such a thing should not exist, and yet there it was, almost picturesque against white, dusty grounds and dense lavender skies. A moment, then two, and he unsheathed his blade, contemplations seemingly reconciled. With graceful flourish he cut a single arc through the air, a whistling hum breaking the thick silence.

The quietude stretched for several moments and then a rustle, soft and rhythmic, as every single apple simultaneously fell to the ground with a dull thud. Re-sheathing his blade, Aizen turned to her and carved a facetious bow from the waist, arm extending towards their fare.

"After you, _ojousama_."

The way his tongue curled around the honorific made her feel as if she were worth less than the dirt under his feet. Rukia however was too tired and hungry to rise to the bait. Pointedly ignoring him she passed his figure and picked up the nearest apple, eagerly biting into it. It was crisp, sweetly-tart and slid down her throat with the ease of thickened honey. Fighting back tears of respite, she quickly finished off another six, all the way to the core, before she stopped, the juicy flesh settling in her stomach like a comfortable mound of lead.

Sated, she turned back to Aizen with an apple in hand. Not for any semblance of kindness or camaraderie, but for the mere fact she wanted to limit the number of debts owed him. She would not be lorded over, not if she could help it. Even when he shook his head dismissively, she kept her hand outstretched. Insistent. Held his unfathomable gaze in a silent stand-off until he sighed exasperatedly, taking the proffered fruit with weighted movements, as if unreasonably burdened.

He didn't immediately bite into it. Aizen simply stared at the smooth, scarlet surface with far more scrutiny than even she had previously levelled at his offered pomegranate. All cautious. Curious and contemplative. And then a sardonic smirk spread across his lips.

"God certainly has an interesting sense of humour," he murmured with only a sliver of amusement, and finally took a resounding bite.

Rukia's interest piqued at that amongst a miasma of fatigue as she pondered on the meaning. His beliefs were difficult to deduce and extrapolate, and yet she'd always surmised he was non-pious and heretical. A non-believer that had humanised the divine and migrated into the realm of Heaven; a god of his own making.

Then, she reminded herself, Aizen wasn't a man that could be read and understood with the clarity of crystal. He was a fogged mirror, an iridescent opal.

Always shifting, a part of him always hidden.

So she studied him, sought a chink in his armour. A means of peeling back pretences and façades just as a breeze, raw and powerful, picked up and blew past them. Auspicious, it marked a shift in the ceaseless stillness.

Rukia watched as a flurry of ivory dust swirled around his feet, dashed between his fluttering robes, and whirled through the strands of his windswept hair. Unheeded, unbothered, he stood resolute, a statue reverently built to persevere.

Untouchable, _unfathomable_.

The truth had never seemed so elusive. So beyond her reach.

. . .

Another trek into the endless span of ruined creation, and a resonant roar surrounded her. A frightening thing, swathed in pungent disease and heralding death.

It licked at her spine, evoked past calamities and an inkling of fright, deep down, as a tremor built at the base of her neck and down the length of her back. Shuddering, Rukia tried to block it out, deny its existence.

The chorus of Hollow shrieks continued somewhere in the distance, incessant and furious.

The living may have perished, but it appeared the damned continued on, cursed to forever aimlessly wander in ache and enduring a gnawing, constant _want_. A lack that would never be made wholly whole.

It was alarming. Made her wonder what else existed out there; what else _remained_.

As she silently ruminated, Aizen calmly stood up ahead and at the edge of a flat cliff, gazing out before him. Against a white light across the edge of the horizon, his silhouette almost gleamed at the edges. Resplendent, ethereal. Like an explorer, a conqueror of old; grandiose against the great expanse.

It was unfair just how effortless and unperturbed he still looked, particularly when she made for a rather inelegant picture. Form frazzled, hair a dishevelled mess, dusty from top to bottom, movements unhurried and cumbrous, she resembled a walking catastrophe. Weary, she was also far less eager to join him and confirm the source of eldritch wails.

With a bitter sigh, she made the final steps and took in the vast wasteland below.

Her eyes widened, her mouth hung open. Stunned to the core, Rukia forgot to breathe.

A mammoth sea of carcasses, grey hide and black smoke filled the entire plane as far as the eye could see. Shifting and pulsing uniformly like wayward waves, the air filled with the chorus of rattling bones and ghastly howls. A fitting symphony for the dead-not-dead.

Muted horror and shock overwhelmed her at the sight. Never before had she seen so many Hollows in one place. Thousands upon thousands, perhaps even millions, moved in sync in the same direction, guided as if by an invisible force. Nothing hindered them. Even when the wild, desperate cries of the weaker beasts rose above the grim cacophony, the unfortunate casualty merely disappeared under the relentless moving mass. Consumed without pause, dying howls instantly snuffed out.

Suddenly she was bombarded with images of being swept up in that horrid mass, being pulled under as if underwater. Drowning on endless darkness as she was ripped apart, torn inside out, swallowed by barbaric night and sinking, sinking, _sinking_ —

"Calm, Kuchiki-san."

The tenor of his voice, surprisingly soft, reeled her back, mind and spirits no longer drifting. She focused on calming her breath, heavy and erratic; worked on easing her pulsing reiatsu. The wave of panic began to subside, and yet she still wondered what would happen if the horde took _note of them_. _Turned on them!_ Aizen was infuriatingly at ease, but _surely_ he couldn't take them all on his own! Right?! He couldn't! _Surely he couldn't_ , and they were just _standing there!_ _Out in the open, like sitting ducks!_ _She didn't even have her zanpakutō—!_

"Calm down."

His hand landed on her shoulder and it felt like he'd branded her with _scalding, scorching_ iron. Just as quickly as he had touched her she tore herself from his hold. Frenzied eyes darted, found his and narrowed into hard slits, frigid and cold, like corpses wilted for days on old. Silently her glare demanded what would not manifest in words: _don't. touch. me._

Unbothered by her vitriol, Aizen momentarily kept his hand raised, as if to pacify, before retreating several steps away.

Rukia was thankful for the space. Being near him, dealing with the renewed reality of her circumstances—the circular cycle of horrors and tragedies—was taking its toll. Moments of acquiescence, of prolonged _sanity_ , seemed ever so fleeting. Just when she thought she'd escaped the well of despair, she'd fall back in, bound, shackled and tackled. As if the weight of this rotting world were pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

Rukia shook her head. Sought an escape.

"How did so many survive?" she whispered, if only as a distraction. A means of keeping her wits.

It was there, slithering on the edges of her mind, a maelstrom of hysterics and madness. Just waiting to unleash in violent torrents and break her down entirely. As unwanted as that was, she still hated herself for seeking him out after only having pushed him away, even with something as simple and innocent as a question. She wished she was stronger, wished she didn't need to turn to him.

 _Depend_ on him.

"Being denotes a positive reality, non-being a negative," he began after a drawn out pause. She rolled her eyes at the impending lecture but swiftly latched onto his words, as if they could drown out the rest of the world.

"This calamity has shattered the very concept of being itself. Life and existence is spiralling towards a contradictory opposition. What once was, is now not. Hollows are an interesting phenomenon in that they are, in essence, a negative reality. Their lack of a heart denotes their being, but that being is predicated upon a negation, so in effect they are nothing at all. A void. A vacuum. Whatever they consume is for naught. No matter the number of souls, their heart will never be made whole as it was never there to begin with."

Another pause as he stared at the heavens. "They survived, Kuchiki-san, because in a world absent of being, of soul and heart, only that which has neither remains."

For a long time neither of them moved nor spoke. Slowly, Rukia exhaled a lungful of air. It might as well have been poison with how it burned her insides raw. Like his words, or rather, the implied and not-said.

All of a sudden her mind whirled. Recalled Ichigo's confessions, sometime long after his battle with the man standing across from her. How Aizen had claimed to _transcend_ Shinigami and Hollows.

_Transcend being and non-being._

With startled revelation, Rukia turned her head to look at him, standing there, alive and well and all-too composed. Then she turned to look out onto the horizon once more, as violet streaks bled into an eternal white. Her previous guarded hopes of deliverance from this hell, of an inkling of life, just beyond— _always just beyond_ —shattered upon themselves. If Aizen was right, beyond him, all that remained was either dead or dying.

So what… what did that mean for her?

Was she slowly dying? Was she even truly alive? What the hell was _wrong with her_?!

"What…!" she began, but couldn't get the words out. Couldn't breathe, panicked gasps pouring from her mouth as she staggered on her feet, submerged in a wave of anxiety and bombarded with terrifying possibilities.

The world swayed and Aizen moved swiftly, closing the distance between them. A shower of blossoms, their shade a lurid purple, suddenly fell around them, filling her distorted vision. They twinkled conspiratorially as she tried to back away, _run away_ , only he was already too close and she was already slipping.

 _Hakufuku_ , she realised belatedly as he widened his arms.

"Sleep well, Kuchiki Rukia."

As if on command, her eyelids drooped then closed. And she fell; right into Aizen's waiting hold.

. . .

_The war spanned eight days and culminated on the ninth._

_Across from her was one of the remaining Quincy elite, hunched over with the knowledge of an impending defeat. To her side, her brother stood tall and resolute, his reiatsu like a balm, a warm blanket draped protectively along her back._

_Rukia turned to him; adoration, respect and gratitude shining in the depths of her violet eyes. Mouth curved into a small smile, a word of appreciation on her lips—_

_The Quincy suddenly roared and flailed in pain, face twisted into a grotesque caricature of fleshly mortality. Rukia started, took a step back and yelped as skin began to melt off bone. Slowly, the body fell, coagulated and pooled across the floor._

_But the shock and revulsion was short lived as all too sudden, like a wave of all-encompassing silence across the universe—a black hole of slinking, encroaching, foreshadowed_ death _—all sound ceased. All movement stilled._

_It lasted for a moment that seemed both stretched into perpetuity and concluded in an instant._

_And then the heavens opened, and they_ thundered _._

 _A blast as is if from a horn sounded everywhere at once. Across realms and worlds of both the living and dead, it reverberated all the way to the body's core and rattled her bones. She stilled, eyes going wide, premonitions of dread wrapping themselves all around her, like withered, sickly vines constricting and binding, and somehow,_ somehow _she_ knew _. By way of an ingrained instinct, a primordial truth, Rukia knew what that sound meant and what it heralded._

 _The darkest, coldest terror seized her heart. A silent prayer died on her tongue. Hopelessness spread across her veins like liquid poison, and yet she still somehow managed to turn towards her brother. Reached out for his hand, if only to take him and run—_ into nowhere _—if only to somehow disappear!_

_Byakuya stood frozen, a statue of radiantly cut ice. His eyes were locked onto the skies as they tore and shattered with the force of the blast, as if made of something more substantial than measly air and dust. Then it all erupted in a hail of orange and white._

_The heavens writhed in a growing lake of liquid fire, brilliant and powerful. Flames ignited and devoured moons and forgotten constellations, burned the cosmic aether, and in the middle of it all she_ saw _. Saw a body fall down, enshrouded in the mist of death as it heaved its last, parting breath._

 _Ichigo's reiatsu disappeared,_ _and Rukia screamed._

_The world rumbled and drowned out her cry. It groaned and wailed as the ground cracked and tore apart. As flames erupted and waves rose and crashed._

_A growing pressure and heat swallowed her along with everything else in existence. Made her heart pound in rapid beats, palpitating like mad. Immersed, everything began to swim and shift before her eyes as she collapsed to her knees under the weight of an invisible, unforgiving force._

" _Rukia!"_

_Her brother, more flustered and fearful than she'd ever heard him, quickly grabbed her and held her, all tight and fierce. Covered her body with his own as everything fell apart around them._

_Rukia cried and screamed her horror, curled tighter around herself, made herself as small as possible, as if that alone would make her disappear. As if that alone were enough to reject and deny the surrounding terror and devastation. Byakuya's hold only tightened._

_And Rukia prayed for an end to_ the end _._

_The Heavens would not listen as the roar of destruction continued unabated. The pressure on existence grew, her heart and lungs constricting under the force. And through the miasma of bleeding souls, she felt each and every individual ember of life dim and snuff out. Somewhere, amidst it all, Renji's reiatsu deteriorated. Chad and Orihime fragmented into dust. Uryū waned and dissipated. One by one by agonising one, they all faded into an impending, eternal night._

_Rukia cried even louder, something horrid and raw, when she felt her brother's reiatsu bleed out and out until only the deadened weight of bone and flesh remained pressed against her back. With one final pitiful moan, she awaited a similar fate._

Any second now.

 _In the broken ruins of creation, of surrendered—_ forsaken _—virtue and sin, God passed judgment on those who lived and those who had died. All were found wanting, and none were spared._

 _So when the dust settled and the world quieted, so eerily and morbidly,_ unnaturally _silent, and Rukia still breathed, all alone, she wondered whether it was actually she who had been condemned. Rejected and left behind in a newly birthed abyss, every other soul blessedly redeemed and spirited away._

_The thought drifted in and out of her consciousness as she slowly pushed back at Byakuya's weight, easing his body onto the ground and taking in his final countenance with tears in her eyes._

_He looked far too peaceful and too-too beautiful for a dead man._

_In her periphery, grey ash and dust coated everything. Vestiges of a world ravaged and burned inside out. She swallowed, simultaneously overwhelmed and eviscerated of all emotion._

_On her knees—in muted supplication—she waited out the silence as a quiet wind blew through her hair and a streak of dust flung itself over bleeding skies and unravelled firmament. Time stretched and stilled, and there she remained._

_Alone. In Hell, in Nothing and Nowhere._

_And there Rukia grappled with the tenuous, higher truth of existence. Prayed for answers and understanding._

_The universe responded with the sound of approaching steps, an encroaching shadow, and a man dressed in white._

_. . ._

Easing open heavy lids and battling a pressing ache at the forefront of her skull, Rukia slowly blinked through the blur and shadows of residual slumber.

And thought, for a while, that she was floating on a warm cloud of silk and white. Dusty skies danced overhead, unmarred by the fire and brimstone of her nightmares, and she sighed quietly, nestling against a hard-soft warmth and breathing in the scent of fresh rain and bright, brilliant light. Like a whisper against her skin, a gentle caress of dewy summer rays.

It was a small comfort; a taste of better dreams.

Feeling all too languorous and idle, Rukia wanted nothing more than to curl up further into that glowing warmth. To languish in illusory non-anguish and entropic relish. And she might have, had cold, uncaring reality not reared its merciless head. Beneath placid musings, there was a sliver of left-over rancour. Debris made up entirely of agony and anger; they floated to the shore of her mind from a tempest deep in her heart, hidden away beneath layers of enervation and dissociation.

The haze behind her eyes cleared. She distinctly felt the strong arms confidently holding her petite form. Saw the hard lines of a too- _too_ masculine chest beneath layers of pristine white.

Exhaling disbelief and displeasure, the ache in her head suddenly hurt something awful as her eyes travelled the length of his form and settled on Aizen's face.

"Awake at last, I see. Sleep well?" he asked, innocuous, having felt her gaze upon him. Untroubled, his stride did not cease, didn't miss a step or a beat as he resolved to continue carrying her as he casually regarded her face.

Rukia closed her eyes. Drew in a long, deep breath. Imagined dragons spewing out from the deepest parts of her, raging in an apocalyptic dance. Vitriolic and sulfuric, levelled straight at him.

"Put me down," she whispered instead, fires momentarily dwindled.

Arguing with him, fighting him, _hating him_ , at every moment and opportunity was _tiring_. Her strength— _her sanity_ —was already a waning, weakened thing, and if she meant to survive, to persevere, she would have to learn to pick and choose her battles. Carefully.

Aizen arched a brow, but opted not to comment as he eased her down. As soon as her feet touched solid ground she darted forward, putting some much needed distance between them. Yet a sense of lack, all lonely and cold, came over her suddenly. She didn't acknowledge its source, ignored it and just as quickly, viciously crushed it. She didn't miss and crave that cocoon of warmth, she told herself firmly as her skin prickled in a sea of gooseflesh. She didn't miss the simple touch of another human being; wasn't so starved for it that she'd willingly allow a man so fiendish and awful to lay a hand on her.

There was absolutely nothing good about him, she reasoned stubbornly. Even as his reiatsu pulsated with a steady thrum, like a blazing sun at her back— _an enticing promise of warmth_ —she vehemently rejected him. That same reiatsu was capable of such untold destruction; had easily incinerated, to ash and to non-existence, anything and anyone that strayed too close to its lurid heat.

_That it could also be so peaceful…._

Rukia shook her head and wrapped arms around herself, mortified at the train of thought. She was truly going mad, she grimly concluded, and the source of her madness was a bitter-tasting poison called _solitude_. Worse of all it had, all too discreetly, latched itself onto the worst possible cure.

Festering in frustration, she was thankful she was walking ahead of the source of her woes for once. So used she had become to staring upon his back—the only constant in a fleeting world—that she could almost pretend, for a moment, that he did not exist. Block out the sense of him entirely— _set the sun and escape eternity_ —and picture herself against a dark celestial expanse, all alone in the universe.

Only like some deteriorating sweet, the image she painted lacked the appeal she coveted.

So Rukia focused on her surroundings instead. They must have covered significant ground as the earth before her was no longer flat, revealing intermittent curved hills coated in ash and distant dusty peaks. She wondered how long she had been out, the events preceding her bout of sleep a blur beyond the haunting roars of a Hollow horde no longer heard. When she sought clarity, recollection, _revelation_ , the ache in her head flared as if in rebuke. All she had for her efforts was the sight of Aizen, standing tall at the edge of a cliff. His lips were moving, but she could not make out the words.

As memory evaded capture, she resigned herself to a case of unburdened ignorance.

Resolved instead to walk forward briskly, abruptly, all too aware of Aizen's gaze burning a hole into her back. Any of his attention on her was agonising, a prolonged torture that bruised in all the wrong places, and so she flash-stepped further and further away. Across dips and knolls till he was nothing more than a haphazard blur on the horizon.

Her newfound sense of freedom exhilarated, and for the first time in too long a time, Rukia basked in a moment of uninterrupted, unperturbed _peace_ —a stark testament against earlier thoughts of a descent into secluded lunacy. And with that, relief flooded her, comforted in the knowledge she hadn't lost her sense of self entirely.

She was so caught up in her bout of introspection she almost didn't hear a pained moan carried in the wind. Instantly she paused and strained her ears, thinking she'd imagined it; a trick of the mind and a precursor to the truly- _truly_ mad. She stretched out her senses, just to be sure, and felt: nothing.

The world remained deader than dead.

But just as she turned to leave, she heard it again. A muted, pain-filled groan. Suddenly alert, she darted around. Went searching behind scraggly rocks and across a flat ravine and found, a short distance away, a grey figure on the ground. There it hovered, a euthanized ghost burning in anguish and angst.

_A survivor!_

Before the thought had even run its course she was off, sprinting frantically, eager to reach them. Rukia couldn't remember the last time she had run so fast. As she skid to a halt beside the unfortunate soul, she took in the tell-tale white of a Quincy robe. It was tattered, caked in soot and black grime. A gaunt body lay hidden underneath as listless black locks sprawled out against the ground, covering a pale white face. Her eyes travelled the length of the body and she gasped when she realised the legs were missing, tibia bones glistening mockingly beneath torn rags.

"Can you hear me? I'm going to do my best to help you!" she quickly exhaled, placing a consoling hand on the figure's back as she began a healing Kidō, filling the surrounding area with green light.

"Ru-Rukia?"

She stilled at her whispered name. Blocked out the rest of the world and all other sound as she focused on that word alone. Familiarity gnawed away at her like a rapacious parasite, insides— _hearts and minds_ —squirming and hurting. The gravelly voice was distorted behind layers of pain and weariness, but she could still detect an inkling of the familiar, as clear as day.

"Uryū?"

Brushing the hair away from his cheek, Rukia looked down at her friend, mystified in wonder, lower lip trembling from hurt and sobs. Overwhelmed, she allowed the tears to roll down as she observed his hollow cheeks and rotting skin. Bloodshot eyes met hers, a million pains and regrets clouding them glassy and red.

" _Uryū!_ " she cried and cried, gaze a watery blur.

She didn't even want to imagine what horrors he had endured; what he had to face, all alone in purgatory for so long. The horror and injustice of it all gnawed at her heart, and yet the relief at seeing a familiar face after so long numbed the pains and woes.

Her friend, her _dearest friend_ … had _survived_! That was all that mattered!

"I'm going to heal you!" she declared heatedly through waning sobs, green light flowing from her palms once more.

Invigorated with purpose, Rukia would not fail. So she promised, to Uryū and herself.

Even when a voice, small and distant, whispered cruel truths from the depths of her clouded mind, telling her it was _hopeless_ , that it was _too late_ , she swore to herself she would succeed. _She had to succeed!_ She _would_ succeed!

_She would save him!_

"Rukia…," he began, sounding delirious as he tried to move. Legs decayed and arms wavering, Uryū dragged himself towards her with laboured gasps and moans.

"No, no, stay still!" she begged, pouring everything she had into the healing magic as he sobbed, oblivious to her pleas.

Uryū reached out to her, all slumped and distressed and shaking from the effort. Yet with a strength that induced both shock and alarm, he grasped her arm and furiously clung to it, as if it were life itself. Just as quickly the green glow of her Kidō dimmed. Heart hammering away, Rukia parted her lips, another word of comfort on her tongue; some pacification that would convince him to let go and allow her to continue.

She gasped instead.

Ice in her veins, lead in her heart. All of a sudden Rukia froze as a blue light glowed from where he held her.

A cold, phantom nest of threads latched onto her skin, delved under membrane and struck at her very core. Stole the breath from her lungs and lit her alight, incinerating her insides with frozen flames. On pure impulse she pulled back, struggled against a grip that would not shift. She wanted to scream, wanted to choke and cry and flee. Out of terror and pain, swirling at the pit of her stomach and threatening to erupt in acrid waste and decay.

And she knew, beneath the mind-numbing pain she _knew_.

_Uryū was killing her._

"Stop… Uryū… please," she whispered through the struggle, voice a breathless wheeze, as he tore away and gorged the very reishi of her being.

" _Rukia_ … _Rukia_ …," he mumbled out her name, a mantra on his tongue. Bitter and metallic like the staccato of dripping blood from the edge of a blade.

He was beyond reasoning. Broken and hysterical, and bordering death.

_Already dead._

No. _No._ Rukia denied it. Vehemently cursed such a fate even as she smelled burning flesh. Tears fell over bruised muscles hiding insides charred and black as she prayed her words would get through to him.

"Uryū, _please_. Let—"

The force of a thousand suns slammed into her as the world shimmered and swam in a pool of reiatsu, the air pulled from her lungs with such ferocity she audibly cried. As if suddenly immersed in water, dunked head first into the deepest depths. For a moment Rukia's throat constricted, panic closing in fast, as she tried to grasp what was happening. She lifted her head, dispelled fog and clouds and saw white silk dancing in her periphery.

Fluttering slowly, gliding unhurriedly.

Like an omen, a silent premonition of death.

"Release her."

In silent, paralyzed dread, she widened her eyes as that deep, wrenching voice swept over them. The ice in her veins suddenly burned, turned liquid fire. A threat hung in the air, dangerous and foreboding. And a bloody promise followed it.

"Uryū! Uryū stop, let go!" she shouted, pulling at her arm desperately, clawing at his fingers in a mad frenzy.

"Rukia… Rukia… Rukiarukia _rukiarukiarukia_."

His mumbled cries grew desperate, tears flowing freely from his eyes. His hold didn't budge, her body's reishi continuing to break apart. Rukia howled her pain and frustration through the struggle, beseeched him with her gaze. An inky emptiness tinged with virulent frenzy stared back at her. Ugly and effusive, she was unable to evade its fatal blows as Uryū descended further into impenetrable insanity.

"I will not repeat myself," Aizen declared lowly as the sound of his zanpakutō being unsheathed filled her ears.

"No!" she shouted, turning to him suddenly. Pleading at him with singed, hurting eyes, inundated with tears, even as he stood firm and resolute. His own dark, bottomless gaze sharp and cold like a knife.

"No, don't! I can help him, I can save him! Uryū! Uryū, stop! Just stop!" Her attention shifted wildly from Aizen to her friend.

 _God, no, no, no,_ please _no!_

He couldn't take him away after she just found him! He couldn't do this to her! He couldn't _possibly_ be so cruel!

" _Rukiarukiarukiarukiarukia_ …," Uryū continued to cry out in increasing hysteria as she saw Aizen move, saw the gliding ripples of white silk.

"NO! URYŪ! _URYŪ_ —"

Rukia made to move, to cover him with her own body if only to ward off the strike.

She wasn't fast enough.

Before her eyes, a blade descended as if in slow-motion. Then all too quickly, it was over. With purposeful movements, efficient and deft, Aizen plunged his sword into the base of Uryū's skull, severing the spine. A twist, an audible pop, and the blade was swiftly removed.

Fingers turned lax, the hold on her unravelled as Uryū instantly deflated. The glowing diaphanous threads dissipated from her arm. But Rukia's attention was only on the body before her—pale, twisted and broken—wide eyes unblinking.

She couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, what had only just happened. Frozen in shock, she searched his face for any signs of life. No breath, no movement, eyes dull and barren. He was so white, almost transparent; blue veins gnawing against the thin skin, spanning like dusky snake-streams over temples and cheeks.

He was… dead.

Rukia choked on a sob before a harsh wail, a broken, twisted chord, tore through her throat and cut into the silence.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

Body shaking with tempestuous rage, she rose like a coiled snake and wildly turned towards Aizen, spitting fire and venom with her gaze. Posed to release violent torrents like hailed hurricanes and see him _dead_.

"What was needed."

"YOU _KILLED_ HIM!"

"He was already dead."

Rukia shook her head, mind all messed up and broken. Skull all fractured and rotten. Denied the truth she already knew; hidden, locked and keyed behind mental vaults and hardened hearts. No, Uryū had a chance! _And he robbed him of it!_

" _I could have saved him!_ "

"There was nothing you could have done. Had I not intervened, the Quincy would have killed you."

Fingers digging into her skull, she cried and grimaced at the madness, like bitter bile, coating her mind and tongue. The flames of outrage and odium flared at the normalcy of his tone, the blasé delivery of such cruel words.

"I wish he had!" she spat viciously, arms coming down in a wild arc. "At least I'd be freed from _you_!"

"I have no desire to listen to a repeated spiel of foolishness," Aizen exhaled, exasperated, and turned his back on her. "We're leaving."

He walked for several meters before pausing, and turned back to look at her. Rukia hadn't moved. Deathly still, she stared at him with eyes darker than hate and hotter than hell.

"We are leaving, Kuchiki-san."

There was an underlying hardness to his voice, a simple warning. Like a whip cracking through air, a thousand fires igniting all at once. It made her tremble and rattle like her bones had suddenly been seared.

Her fury however burned far hotter.

"No!"

"Kuchiki—"

"NO!" she shouted, the weighted hurts she felt causing her voice to tremble. Even as tears made their way down her cheeks, Rukia lifted her chin, a dragon awakening from an eternity's slumber, and regarded him with all the fury and turmoil she could muster.

"How could you _do_ that to him?! You didn't even _try_ to help him! Even after you told me life has value and meaning. How can you even _speak_ those words when every single action you ever take proves the opposite? Why must you take something true and good and turn it into such an _ugly lie_?!"

Now that she had begun there was no end in sight. Like a faucet left to flow, words poured from her mouth like a scarlet stream. A soliloquy of hurts and hate.

"Do you even know what it means to truly value something? It means doing _everything_ in your power to protect it!" she cried. "To keep it from harm, no matter the personal cost or sacrifice. When have you ever protected anything?! When have you ever made a _sacrifice_?!"

Silent and unmoving, Aizen regarded her with patient, placid disinterest. Unbothered by her vitriol, perfectly content to see her burn herself out, inside-out. Her words wouldn't hurt him, no matter how desperately she yearned to hear and see his anguish. He should know pain and suffering— _justice for his sins_ —but she'd yet to hone in on the requisite, cutting blow. Like water through a sieve, sand trickling between fingers, whatever she levelled at him would not land or stick.

Rukia gritted her teeth and continued, undeterred, resolved to land a strike even as frustrated tears continued to pool in her violet eyes.

"You have a talent for beautiful words, Aizen. But deception and pretty illusions are all you have. Is the truth of what you hide really so horrid? What would I see if I looked deep into your heart? What dark, rotten terrors would I find there?"

Her eyes burned with frozen flames, and unknowingly, she went straight for the kill.

" _Do you even have a heart?_ "

The narrowing of eyes. The widening and darkening of pupils, and her strike landed true. Rukia was suddenly caught up in a silent gale of ill-fermenting displeasure turning ice-cold muted rage. She could scarcely believe it.

_Aizen Sōsuke could bleed after all._

And something inside her was hastily telling her to stop, to _stop now_. And she would have if she were thinking straight; concerned with such primordial notions as safety and self-preservation. However the sliver of insanity that had plagued her since that disastrous day had morphed to strangle insides and organs, seeking escape.

Coated her mind and unleashed itself in bitter hysterics: she wanted to see him flayed and gutted! Skin peeled back raw and crimson, revealing all his mortal shortcomings!

Because Aizen Sōsuke was just a man behind the façade of unparalleled divinity, and she would prove it!

"Understanding is a meeting of two hearts, is it not? So how could anyone ever understand you when you hide behind illusions and façades? There's no understanding a fabrication… a _lie_ … and that's why you've always lived your life alone!"

There it was again, that innate quiet whisper telling her to stop. That she was going _too far_.

The pressure around her was growing, hammering at her with wild staccato beats. Pounding against her head, beating down on her back. Heart thumping fast and threatening to burst, body trembling and shaking and pulsing from rage turned mania, Rukia ignored the whispers of caution. Even as thunder roared through her bones and lightning smouldered her blood, her cries grew louder and her cheeks turned bloody red.

"Is that why you've kept me alive? _Forced_ me to stay by your side? Could it be that the great, all-powerful _Aizen Sōsuke_ , former Gotei Captain and Ruler of Hueco Mundo, COULD NOT _BEAR TO FACE THE THREAT OF AN ETERNITY'S PERDITION ALL ALONE_ _?!_ "

And then everything went quiet. Ghastly still.

The pounding ceased, the tremors dissipated. Silence swallowed silence, and Rukia was turned to stone. An effigy exhumed and eviscerated. Even her frenzied heartbeats where no more. Any residual hate and madness had disappeared with her outburst, leaving her to nurse a gnawing, twisting thing at her core. It left her feeling bare, exposed, and she brought a hand to clutch at the edge of her kosode, just above her heart. As if that alone could shield her; a small, meagre comfort.

She counted the seconds as Aizen continued to stare at her. Was frightening in his stillness. She swallowed the lump growing at the base of her throat, envisioning a severing. A swift arc in the air with his zanpakutō and her head flying, falling, detached from shoulders quick and clean.

Surely he wouldn't let her live, not after all that. There was _no_ possible way—

"We're leaving."

A cold whisper and a blur of white, Aizen turned and resumed his stride. Without pause. Without another glance. There was no doubt she would follow.

Rukia exhaled the breath she hadn't realised she was holding. Glancing to one side, Uryū's corpse had almost entirely disintegrated, a band of dust flinging itself over the heavens.

 _The higher-most, upper-most part of hell_.

With shaky, trembling breaths, she brushed aside a lone tear and followed after him. Plagued with convulsions and fears that felt as if they would hurt and last forever.


End file.
